


What Might've Been Lost

by zesulin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Deep Roads, M/M, Married Couple, Multi, Nonbinary Anders, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), Trans Character, Trans Fenris, fenris joins the inquisition, like super on the side, solavellan on the side
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-25 00:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4939750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zesulin/pseuds/zesulin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They're....what?" Dorian turned town to glance at the dwarf, who dragged his hand down his face, and then began to pick at his gloves.<br/>"Well, Sparkler...It's a story."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Was Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewritten (8/12/17)

“Well, we've seen worse," stated the dwarf as he finished tying down a tent. Staking had proved near impossible, even with the help of the scouts. "At least it's not the Wounded Coast. Believe me. Broody and I have seen our fair share in Kirkwall." Beside him, the elf in question grunted, busy pouring over a map of the area.

"Afraid I've never been, Varric," Isetriel replied distractedly, sitting atop a desk that had been set up in the corner of camp, seemingly oblivious to how much her seating choice irked the requisitions officer. "Our clan tended to avoid cities. Especially Kirkwall...It would not have been safe us to go, considering." she gnawed her lip, eyes raking over Harding's report again. In the other camp, the dwarf had warned her about the strange magic here, as well as the reported dangerous apostate holed up in the abandoned Envers mines. It was worrying, but they'd yet to delve in, which she imagined they'd be doing today after a short rest and lunch. 

"It does not feel right here," said the elf by Varric's side, shifting from foot to bare foot, green eyes raking the area with a suspicious eye. His lip curled at he spoke, his expression bitter. "The _magister_ is doing nothing to help." 

"I'm right here, you know!"

"Yes. You are rather hard to miss." 

"Now, now, Broody, Sparkler, play nice." Varric chimed in, sensing the tension rising. For the life of him, he couldn't imagine why exactly the Inquisitor had thought it would be a remotely good idea to tote the Tevinter mage along with Fenris who seemed hell-bent on eviscerating him from the moment they were introduced (a terrible accident, he was still wondering how they managed to calm Fenris and convince him, for now, NOT to). But then again, Fenris seemed to practically be a shard-detector and there were Venatori involved, which meant that Dorian’s presence was nearly required. Now Varric was just nervous to be in the middle of it — as if things between Blondie and Broody hadn't been tense enough, at least, at first.

“Alright," called the Inquisitor from her perch on the desk, tucking the papers she needed into the inner pocket of her vest. "We ought to move out shortly. Everyone, make sure you have something to eat before we leave camp."

—

The wind hissed through the rock formations like a pack of wolves, the light of the day slowly slipping away, the burning sand cooling slowly under Fenris' bare feet. They had been shard-hunting all day, taking note to look around when his brands began to hum in the areas spotted via the oculara. Now the sun was beginning to set, and though everyone’s legs ached terribly, the Inquisitor pressed on, delving into the abandoned mining complex in search of a shortcut back to camp.

Fenris had his own reasons for coming along, unknown to anyone else besides himself and Leliana, who had graciously done the legwork he was unable to in the past few months. She had, as always, come up with phenomenal results. Work contracts to a 'Kristoff Anderson' in the area, and an eyewitness report from the foreman of the mine, who had confirmed that he had indeed had a Kristoff Anderson working under him, about how he had been a scruffy, strange individual who had a young daughter. When the Envers company had closed off the operation due to the strange magic hanging all about the place, Anderson had seemed to disappear.

"The compelling piece, Fenris," Leliana had said with a smirk pulling at the edge of her lips, "Is that Kristoff was the name of the man Justice possessed before it inhabited Anders. I have confirmation from my w —ah, the Warden Commander whom he served under."

That, coupled with the reports of a strange apostate inhabiting the abandoned mines in the Forbidden Oasis that the spymaster had picked up, was enough for Fenris to take a chance at looking again...Though despite the evidence, it seemed too much to hope for. Many times over the past four years, Fenris had searched and followed lead after lead, only to be let down and left 10 sovereigns short.  

 

And now here he was, plodding through the mines with a Tevinter mage, Varric, and the so-called Herald of Andraste. The air around them was rapidly cooling as night began to fall, little slivers of moonlight making their way through ventilation holes and in places where the mine opened up. The thrum of ancient magic hummed through his markings and buzzed through his teeth, growing more palpable as they delved further into the tunnels. Then, almost abruptly, the magic in the air shifted into something newer. It left Fenris feeling as if he'd been dipped into warm bath, unmistakable familiarity washing over him. He stopped in his tracks, gauntlet-clad fingers twitching for a moment before he shot his arm out to stop the others. The Inquisitor gave him an odd look, cocking her head. 

 

"Fenris, what—“ 

 

" —Shh." he shushed her sharply, treading forwards carefully, brows furrowed. The air before them glittered gently and sang, the sort of high-pitched whine given off by a spell. He reached forwards, fingers brushing against the glinting air, and his markings surged to life, blazing bright in the small, dark tunnel. The air before him rippled like a pool and glowed, a loud toll sounding. Somewhere down the tunnel, there was a shuffling, followed by the call of a raspy voice.  

"Don't come any closer!" 

"We are agents of the Inquisition," called Isetriel from his side, "We do not mean you any harm if you don't mean us any. We simply need to pass through."  

"There is a detour you can use," replied the voice. Ferelden, to be sure, and it carried the same strange sense of familiarity as the latent magic that hung in the air. "You may not pass through here!" 

"The side passages are infested with demons!" shouted Fenris, desperately grasping at the chance placed before him. This could be it. This could be him. Isetriel shot him a concerned look, noting as his breathing began to pick up, hands curling into fists.

There was a long pause from the other end of the barrier, and then the soft sound of cautious footfalls. A figure emerged, though still some ways down the tunnel.  

"...Fenris...?" the voice rasped, filled with tentative hope. The figure made a step closer, moonlight from the ventilation shaft casting them in a stark, severe light. They were tall and gaunt, clothes hanging off their shoulders in a manner that suggested weight loss by prolonged lack of food. The garments themselves were ragged and sun-bleached, appearing to have been patched far too many times. As the figure stepped forwards, their facial features became clear— a long, straight nose, tired amber eyes, soft, pink lips masked by the presence of a large, unkempt beard. Fenris could only stare, his eyes blown wide; He only vaguely registered a muffled "holy shit" from Varric somewhere behind him as he stepped closer to the barrier, his brands still illuminating the cavern.

In a moment, the barrier dissipated with a soft popping. Fenris surged forward, all but launching himself into the arms of the mage.  

Anders was thinner than he remembered, all skin and muscle and bone, devoid of all softness he'd had before. He could feel the sharpness of Anders' collarbone as he buried his face into his chest, strong, lyrium-lined arms holding him fast. The mage let out a shaky sigh as Fenris nuzzled into him, shuddering as a cry caught in his chest. He held him in return, running his fingers through silky waves of white, plaited hair—much longer than he remembered. Behind his back, Fenris' fingers curled and gripped onto his padded coat, no doubt tearing the delicate, worn fabric with his taloned fingers.  

"You're a bastard," Fenris said, though his words carried little fire. His body began to shake against Anders', little hiccupping breaths the only indication that he was beginning to cry. When he spoke once more, the mage’s ragged coat muffled his voice. "I love you. I missed you."  

"I know," Anders breathed into his hair, having trouble holding back his own tears. "I know, I love you, too." 

"…That was...Well, unexpected." Dorian said as the two held each other, no longer aware of the world around them. "I was under the impression that he despised mages." 

"I wasn't aware Fenris had a lover." Isetriel agreed, her eyebrows raised.  

"More than that," Varric pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. "They're…ah…married." 

"They're....what?" Dorian turned town to glance at the dwarf, who dragged his hand down his face, and then began to pick at his gloves.  

"Well, Sparkler...It's a story."

 

The moon was high by the time their party made it back to the Oasis camp with the new additions. The whole way, Fenris and Anders had been sharing hushed whispers in the back, speaking softly so as not to wake the child cradled in the mage's arms. They seemed to speak few words of significance even as they set to bed; Fenris wished everyone a murmured goodnight and then retired, followed closely by the child and his husband. There was the sound of settling, whispers, and then silence. The rest of the party settled in a circle around the small fire Harding had built hours previously, kindling the dying flames with what spare wood they could find.

"So, Varric," Dorian was the first to pipe up once the couple had gone off to bed, eagerly pulling his boots off and shaking the sand out. His socks soon followed after, filled with a frankly disturbing amount of sand. "You said there was a story?" 

From across the fire, Varric chuckled softly, shaking his head as he began to brush the grit from his hair.

"Sparkler, there's always a story, trust me. This one I'm just not sure you really want to hear. It's..." The dwarf trailed off, sparing a glance back to the couple's tent. He sighed, and then gazed into the fire. "It's sad."

"You know, Varric," the mage continued, "Tragedies are all the rage in Tevinter. Always have been. I'm quite certain we'd all like to hear it. Especially considering Fenris' spouse seems to be a mage, and he decidedly does not like them!"

"Ahh, fine. If you really wanna know. But this will take awhile." But all eyes were on Varric, seemingly undeterred by any of his warnings. 

"Oh, all right. If you’re going to push. It started in the Deep Roads. The Champion, Hawke, and a small party of companions to go along with Bartrand's expedition, including myself, the apostate and Grey Warden Anders, and Fenris. We had been betrayed already by then, left to rot by my bastard of a brother in an abandoned thaig, and then nearly smashed to death by an ancient rock wraith straight out of legend. But, as always, we came out on the other end, with plenty of treasure to speak for it. The last thing any of us were thinking about was a cave-in..."

 

_They almost came out of nowhere, flooding the cavern in a mad rush out of the warrens. Anders had barely had time to warn the rest of them, arming himself the second the whisper of their collective consciousness broke through into his. It was harder to sense them these days — Justice made their call seem muffled and distant. Beside him, Fenris' markings flared to life as the enemy came._

_The first wave was done with quickly, Marian taking them out with fireball, Varric thinning their ranks and Fenris tore through them with animal ferocity; the second wave was much lesser than the first, and just as quick — but as the third came, the passageway shook. The darkspawn's call roared through Anders' mind, a bloodthirsty call all too familiar —_

_"They have an ogre!" the mage shouted, voice raw as he sent another blast of energy clean through an approaching hurlock, splattering his gore over the lime-slick stone of the tunnel._

_"Shit —" Hawke turned, twirling her staff and driving the blade end through an emissary's helm. "And how many more?!"_

_"Not many! It's just a big —"_

_The stone beneath them trembled, the thud of heavy, clawed feet sounding from the warrens. Anders shifted, sweat trickling down his temples, tired and running low on mana. He tightened his grip on the haft of the staff as the ogre entered, setting it's sights on the party. It bellowed terribly, and knelt, making to charge._

_The ogre barreled towards Hawke, and she leaped out of the way, throwing a bolt of spirit energy over her shoulder as she tumbled. A moment later, she stumbled to her feet, grabbing for her staff. The creature's mass connected with the stone, hard, sending rubble falling from the ceiling. Anders, pausing only briefly to replenish his mana, watched as Fenris tore by him, sword raised high as he made for the dazed beast. He lept, and drove Lethendralis deep into it's neck as it fell back against the unstable wall, black, blighted blood spurting forth onto the elf's gauntlets. The ogre shuddered, letting out a wet, garbled roar. Fenris twisted the blade, and it was still._

_"My, Fenris," Hawke started, a grin creeping onto her sweat-slick face as the elf tore his blade free, and hopped back onto the stone floor. "I have to say, I'm impr —" a loud clacking interrupted her, grit falling from the ceiling, and then the thunderous sound of weakened, ancient stone giving way. Anders could only watch in horror as the corridor behind them was sealed, filling the air with dust and, in the case of one large stone, toppling onto Fenris and crushing him. He screamed, a heart wrenching, pained noise torn from his chest. Anders immediately surged forwards, even as the settling dust choked him, shutting out the noise around him as his healer’s instincts kicked in._

_When Anders reached his side, Fenris lay prone, legs crushed under the stone, his entire form pale and rigid. “Someone help me move this!” called Anders, both Marian and Varric already rushing to his side. Together, they dug their fingers under the rock, straining to lift it, already tired from battle. Fenris whimpered as it was lifted and set aside, green eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched. Once it was out of the way, Anders knelt down, motioning for Varric and Marian to step back..._

“I hate to rush you, Varric, but where’s the romance here?” Dorian interrupted, lounging on his side, head cushioned by Isetriel’s leg. She nodded in agreement, raising her dark eyebrows.

“As much as I love to hear your exploits of the Deep Roads, and how many hurlocks Lady Hawke has slain.”

“Well, I’m getting there,” Varric sighed, frowning. “You can’t rush great art. Really, I’d think you’d have more patience. From what I hear about Tevinter plays…” 

“Usually, there’s more intrigue. If someone isn’t dying terribly, they’re having a forbidden love affair that will result in someone dying terribly.  You know, in Minrathous, there’s this theatre called— “

Before Dorian go any further, much to everyone’s surprise, the requisitions officer shushed him from her spot under a nearby tree. She had wandered in somewhere in the middle of the story, assumedly on her way back to her tent from heeding nature’s call. Varric snorted, waving a hand. “In short, Fenris had broken his legs. Badly. I don’t mean little fractures, either— snapped bones. He wasn’t going to die, but he wasn’t going to walk out of the Deep Roads on his own, either…”

_Hours passed. Potion after potion, Anders swallowed the lyrium, ignoring the metallic aftertaste with each vial. Fenris was silent at his place on the floor as he healed, Marian’s pack gently tucked under his head for comfort. They were running low on health potions, and trying to conserve for the trip to the surface — though at this point, it was seeming near impossible._

_“How are you holding up?” Anders asked gently, wiping the sweat that had begun to bead on his brow. Below him, Fenris shifted slightly, wincing._

_“Better.” he rasped, eyes sliding open. He eyed Anders for a moment, his mouth set in a grimace. It was evident that relying on the mage was not something he liked, but had certainly come to accept here. Without him, the chance of him walking right ever again was dramatically decreased. And if the bone healed improperly, that would have many painful implications._

_“Good,” the mage replied gently, brows furrowed in concentration, his hands gently braced against’ the elf’s leg, where he could feel the muscle knitting back together as it should. “It’ll be done by morning, so there’s not need to fret about that. But I would advice not walking too much, so you don’t stress the healing too much.”_

_“And how am I to leave here, then?”_

_“I assume you’ll have to lean against Marian and I, or have one of us carry you.” Fenris fell silent again, brows furrowing, but too tired to bother arguing it. Anders sighed, feeling his mana depleting, and again reached into his pouch to retrieve a lyrium potion — to find it empty. He frowned, pursing his lips._

_“Marian —” he called gently, glancing at where she and the dwarf sat around a small, magical fire. She looked up, arching an eyebrow at him. “Have any more lyrium?”_

_“I’m afraid gave you the rest of mine.” Hawke sounded truly apologetic, if a bit anxious. Anders cursed under his breath, glancing back down at Fenris. The healing so far would not do, but he imagined he could wait awhile — the problem would be the pain catching up. It would be less than before, but certainly not pleasant. And if there was anything wrong, it would be much harder to fix it later. Even lifting him from the floor could aggravate the wounds, and cause painful hairline fractures to form. As he deliberated, staring off into space, Fenris hesitantly placed a gauntleted hand over the mage’s. Anders stirred, glancing back down._

_“Use this.” the mage frowned, looking confused._

_“What?”_

_“Use my lyrium,” Fenris replied, sounding as begrudging and impatient as he looked. “Until you have finished.”_

_Anders blinked, taken aback. Multiple times, he had heard the elf go on about how the mere presence of mages made his markings crawl, how when mana was pulled from him, he felt as if worms writhed under his skin, eating away at him. Bitterness towards the elf’s attitude and personal beliefs aside, it sounded incredibly unpleasant._

_“Are you sure?” Anders asked skeptically as the elf took his hand._

_“Entirely. I do wish to walk again.”_

_Fenris’ markings glowed as he tapped into them, casting him in an eerie, ghost-like light. A moment later, Anders felt the lyrium’s power flowing into him, cool and refreshing as a frigid stream in midsummer. He gasped, overwhelmed, and in the back of his head, Justice sang, sated, cooing of home. He was full within moments, and didn’t want it to end — but it did, abruptly, as Fenris drew away and shuddered, making a face. It took a moment for Anders to recover and remember exactly where he was and what he was doing — Right, healing Fenris, repairing broken bone. It seemed so much easier now as he poured his healing magic into the wounded legs, warm and light, comforting._

_Each time his mana would deplete, Fenris would grudgingly replenish him, and each time it seemed easier. By the wee hours of the morning (or what he imagined to be the wee hours, considering they were underground with little concept of time) Anders had finished, and Fenris, at length, had fallen asleep curled just so against him. He couldn’t help but smile a little at that — he was softer this way, his face relaxed and less severe. He reached for his own pack, and set it down, falling asleep by Fenris’ side._

“...Blondie ended up carrying him out of the Deep Roads, since Hawke was bogged down like a mule with all Broody’s stuff. They were weirdly civil after that. Next thing we know, they’re not even arguing and actually sitting _beside each other_ without complaining. By the time we knocked out the Arishok, they were even cuddly. It was weird.”

“When did they get married?” asked Lavellan from her place across the fire, distractedly petting Dorian’s hair. The mage hummed in agreement, nodding as best he could from his position laying down.

“Maker, that must have been...Our last year in Kirkwall, I think? Not long after they had their kid. She was just a baby when Meredith lost it.”

“Had their child?” Dorian glanced up, looking curious.

Varric cleared his throat awkwardly, “Not my, ah… thing… to explain. But she’s theirs, completely. It was quite the adventure, having an infant to juggle along with Kirkwall’s politics…Dangerous, most of the time. But sometimes fun.” The dwarf looked off into the distance, seemingly caught up in memories he didn’t care to share. Silence settled over the small group at length, the dying fire crackling within its small circle of sun-bleached stones.

“We ought to go to bed. I’m exhausted.” Dorian murmured, getting up. “I’ll see you all in the morning, I do need my beauty rest if I’m not fireball someone to death tomorrow.”

“Me too,” Lavellan replied, getting up slowly. “I have a date with the Fade.”

“Sweet dreams, kids.” Varric replied, snuffing the fire with sand. The flames petered out, and the world fell dark and quiet once more.


	2. Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of setting things up again and is kind of filler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me that I am a terrible writer who is bad at pacing so honestly congrats if you're still enjoying it this far oh man....also sorry for the long time without an update, life kinda got in the way. Let me know what you think so far, and if anyone wants to beta my terrible work your help would be godsend.

_Kirkwall was burning._

_All around him, innocents screaming, tearing away in fear from the templars that he knew would give no mercy. There was no hiding now, no compromise, and Justice had gotten their way. Three years of fighting for the cause, and such little effort to let go of it all. But it was necessary. It had to be necessary._

_Beside him, Fenris' sword found its way through another templar's armor, running through effortlessly. His markings blazed as he spun, cutting through templar and rogue blood mage alike, a roar growing in his throat with each passing enemy. He had his fire, his fury. All that Anders clung to now was a chance of forgiveness, and knowing that perhaps this would be a step to freeing mages all over Thedas. A drop in the metaphorical pail._

_Fenris cut through the last templar in the square, raising his foot to the templar's breastplate to dislodge his Blade of Mercy. He breathed heavily as his markings dimmed, sheathing his sword for the time being. He turned then, fixing Anders with sharp green eyes._

_"Go," he said, brows knit. "Get Ena and go. She is with Orana. Run."_

_"It's not safe for me, or her." Anders replied. Fenris let out a sharp sigh, glancing at Marian, who was already moving on with everyone else._

_"It is not safe with Marian, either. After this is over...there will be many after her. I will take you as far as the docks. You are good at running." Fenris took his arm, and Anders felt the press of his ring beneath his gauntlet. "--Meet me in Highever. I will not be long."_

_They ran. Fenris retrieved Ena from Hawke's estate, where a confused, frightened Orana had passed over the small bundle of blankets that swaddled the infant. She had been so small in his arms, but she was silent the whole way. Silent as she was passed from Fenris' arms to Anders', silent as Fenris tore through any who stood in their way. They'd paid off a ship bound for Ferelden with what money they had and stowed Anders on board. They set off only minutes later. Anders had peered through a porthole as the ship left the docks, and watched helplessly as Fenris was ambushed by a group of Templars hiding in an alley. He watched as Fenris tore through them. He watched as one of their blades met its mark. He screamed, he clawed at the porthole, tried desperately to somehow return to him-- nothing came from his throat. He couldn't move. He couldn't go back._

Anders woke, brow beaded with sweat, taking in the cool stone walls around him. Outside his latticed window, a bird chirped and hopped on the window box, pecking the soil with a small yellow beak, before fluttering off. Slowly, he remembered where he was-- He’d been taken back to Skyhold along with Ena after being discovered in a cave by his estranged husband, been snuck in through a back entrance with the help of Sister Leliana, the Herald, and her apostate lover. Since then, he’d been kept a well-guarded secret, disguised carefully should anyone recognize him. He worked with the herbalist most days. Fenris wasn’t dead. Kirkwall wasn’t burning any longer.  
He took a shuddering breath and stretched, pushing the nightmare from his mind-- it was late morning already, and both Fenris and Ena would already be up and about their business. Not that the latter had much work to be doing, aside from trailing after Josephine like a little duck, or terrorizing the other occupants of Skyhold with Sera when she wasn’t with him working on filling potion orders. 

He stood, popping his back before straightening and beginning his morning routine-- washing his face, dressing, tying back his long hair, grooming his beard, and then eating breakfast in the kitchens. It was surprising that he hadn’t been recognized yet, but then again, he supposed that it was name and not face that had traveled across Thedas. He was a name in the heads of Thedosians, a tale of warning, a scapegoat, and little else. Since he’d arrived at Skyhold, the name had been concealed, and he had maintained his alias-- at least in public settings, with those who weren’t in the know (most notably, Seeker Pentaghast, Madame de Fer, and Commander Cullen.)

Anders shivered as he stepped out of his room, still unused to the cool mountain air after years in the desert, accustomed to scorching sand and scathing temperatures. Still, after such a long period of time, Anders felt happy to be back in his home country.  
The joyous screech of a child broke his reverie, and he went to the banister to peer over into the courtyard below, where it appeared that Ena was sitting on the horns of a massive Qunari. She squealed again as he jogged and hopped about. Anders frowned, descending the stairs to meet her. 

“MAMMAA!” Ena shrieked from the top of the Qunari’s head, her small hands curled around the ends of his horns, “I’M ONNA DRAGON MAN!” She leaned forwards as she spoke, and then leaned too far, her grip slipping. Anders surged forwards to catch her, but the Qunari was faster, chuckling as he caught her with one great hand.

“Woah, there, kiddo. You ought to be more careful if you’re gonna ever ride a real dragon.” He set her down on the ground before regarding Anders. “Your kid?” 

“Yes,” Anders replied as she charged at his legs. He huffed softly and smiled, scooping her up before she could crash against him. How peculiar, he thought. A Qunari playing with a child and laughing, speaking informally, so unlike those he’d seen in Kirkwall. “I apologize if she disturbed you. She can be a bit of a handful.” 

“Not at all,” the Qunari grinned, and continued, “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m the Iron Bull.” 

“Iron Bull,” Anders rolled the name on his tongue-- also unusual for a Qunari. Tal-Vashoth, then? 

“Kristoff. And this is Ena.” the aforementioned child grinned devilishly from her place in Anders’ arms, bearing her teeth and wrinkling her nose as she wracked with giggles. 

“Josephine mentioned that. She needed a babysitter for a while she went to brunch with some Baron-What’s-His-Face. Think Fenris was busy, and you were asleep.” 

“Have you seen him, by the way?” Anders asked, setting Ena back down. She scampered off to go inspect a tree near the Tavern. 

“Saw him headed to the war room earlier, but he might be done by now.” 

“Er, thank you-- Ena, watch yourself--” With that, Anders went to go retrieve the child and search for his husband. 

\- 

“We have to reach the Empress before Corypheus. The only question is: How?” Cullen leaned over the war table, blonde brows drawn together tightly. 

“We know how,” Josephine cut in, giving the Commander a skeptical look, “I have our way in. The real question is, where is the enemy hiding?” She turned, regarding Isetriel. “At the urging of Grand Duchess Florianne, the Empress is holding a ball. Absolutely everyone will be there. During the festivities, Celene will be meeting for peace talks with the usurper Grand Duke Gaspard and Ambassador Briala.” 

“The assassin must be hiding within one of these factions.” Leliana added. Isetriel worried her lip, frowning slightly. 

“How are we getting in, again?” 

“We have been sent invitation from the Grand Duke himself to the ball. We should prepare presently, Inquisitor-- I’ve purchased you several dresses in the latest fashion for you to choose from for when you go, all delivered into your chambers. In addition, uniforms for the group you will take with you.” 

As the banter about the ball the at Winter Palace continued, Fenris leaned against the wall, his business here largely done-- adding insight on what one might be expecting when coming up against slavers and Venatori especially, and an operation he had special interest in. Still, it wouldn’t be right to miss out on other important plans, nor would it be right to leave just then. He watched as the advisors bickered for a time, and then finally broke for the day, all filing out of the War Room. They would be leaving for the ball at Halamshiral the following evening, the Inquisitor accompanied by a small group of companions, as well as the advisors. Formal wear was a must, weapons would be left by Leliana’s spies in a storage room on the lower levels of the palace. Fenris was unsure if he was going-- Isetriel had yet to choose her group. Admittedly, he hoped he had that part of the evening off-- Perhaps he would get to spend time with Anders and Ena, be able to catch up...the thought warmed him, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.  
As Fenris strode into the great hall, he heard his voice called out, breaking him from his thoughts. He looked up sharply, brows furrowing, and then softening when his eyes fell on Anders. The mage trotted up with Ena holding his hand with her tiny one, large green eyes staring up at the both of them. She sidestepped behind Anders’ knees as they neared, peeking out. Fenris grimaced, his stomach sinking.

“--She’s still skittish,” he said apologetically, “It’ll take her a while.”

“It is to be expected. You were looking for me, I take it?”

“Yes...Wondering if you’d like to have breakfast, with myself and Ena...?” Fenris offered a small smile, nodding.

“I would enjoy that.” 

\- 

Evening came faster than Fenris anticipated. Despite his wishes not to attend the ball at Halamshiral, the Inquisitor had approached both him and Anders about attending the ball shortly after breakfast. For their benefit, the rest of the day was spent practicing courtly behavior at Josephine’s behest. 

“Believe me, Fenris, Kristoff,” she had said, a small, coy smile on her lips, “You will want this practice. The Game is deadly, and while you will only be there for the evening, it may prove more comfortable to know which fork to pick up first.” Both had grudgingly agreed. 

Thus the day had been full of etiquette lessons from a highly amused (and irritated) Vivienne, with occasional pointers from a passing Josephine or Leliana, during which Anders had to try his best not to snap. His only relief was when he went to go check on Ena, who was with Krem today; Luckily, the warrior seemed to have quite a bit of fun pretending to hunt dragons (Bull) and slay darkspawn (Cole) with her. By the time they came to get her in late afternoon, she was entirely tuckered out; Fenris had gone to set her down for a nap, while Anders went to get dinner for the both of them to have in their rooms. 

“It’s a shame you’ll be heading out so soon,” he heard a familiar voice echo down the hall as he approached the kitchens, dinnerware stacked in his arms. “I was hoping to catch a moment with you to speak. How you’re holding up, if you need any advice...” Anders froze in his tracks, stomach turning to ice water as he recognized the voice, and heard footsteps drawing nearer. He squeaked, dodging behind a column. 

“Of course,” Isetriel’s voice answered as she answered the corridor, Marian Hawke at her side. “Perhaps in my office. I’m free for now...and I do need help deciding on a dress in any case.” she tittered, taking no notice of Anders as she passed with the Champion, who gave little pause either, engrossed in conversation. Still, Anders trembled from the shadows, entirely caught off guard. _Shit. Shit shit shit **shit.**_ Why had nobody warned him of Hawke’s presence in Skyhold? 

It wasn’t as if they had parted on especially bad terms. After what Anders had done in Kirkwall, Marian, despite being disappointed, had pardoned him. She had been sympathetic to his cause all along, but when the Chantry had gone up in flames, the Grand Cleric killed...She hadn’t seen it from his point of view. She had seen the death as needless, careless, knowing what Meredith would do when compromise was eliminated. He had not seen how it turned out, but heard in various ways while he traveled away, hiding with the then 10 month old Ena. He had gone to Highever, and then when the mage-templar infighting began to spread like wildfire, when Fenris never came, fled to the deserts of Orlais, taken on a new name, become as unassuming as he could manage. The last he had seen of Marian was in the Bizarre square in Lowtown, heading up the steps back into Hightown. She had had her back turned to him, her shoulders squared as Fenris and Anders both fled, cutting through templar and maleficar alike.

Here she was again, a ghost from his past. If she saw him again, there was little doubt in his mind that she would recognize him on sight. The beard, the new trappings-- they would mean little. He could only hope that she would either keep his cover, or leave soon. 

He remained shaken even as he brought two plates up to his and Fenris’ rooms above the courtyard, careful to remain as much of a shadow as he could in the evening’s dying light, slinking from shadow to shadow when he reached the yard below the Kitchens-- luckily for him, the merchants had packed away for the day. He took a shortcut through the Herald’s Rest, nodding to Bull and Krem, and then to Cole as he slipped up the stairs and through the door on the topmost floor onto the ramparts, and then to his rooms. 

When finally he was once again within their walls, he sighed, leaning against the door as it clicked shut. Fenris glanced up from his book, arching an eyebrow. 

“You were gone quite some time,” he remarked, though quietly so as not to stir Ena, who was curled against his belly. “Is something the matter?” 

“I’ll tell you later.” Ander replied quietly, striding over and setting the food on a side table, and then filling glasses with water from a decanter. “For now I’m just...really bloody hungry. Let’s eat.” Fenris gave him a perplexed look, but said nothing, gently waking Ena. 

“We leave late tomorrow morning. Josephine just delivered our uniforms, and a pair of masks,” Fenris sat up, child in his arms. “While I would like to bring Ena, it would be unwise to, I think.” he stroked her hair out of her sleepy face, brows furrowing. “I do not like leaving her so much.” 

“I don’t, either, but it’s best she’s far away and safe than with us and in danger.” Anders began to pick at his food-- strips of roasted chicken with seasoning, roasted asparagus wrapped in strips of bacon, squash, thick bread with honey butter. Fenris soon followed suit with Ena, who sat propped in his lap, eating from her own small plate. They were mostly quiet as they ate, tired from a long day, and preparing for another tiring day coming up. 

Once dinner was finished, Fenris left to take the dishes back to the kitchens, while Anders put Ena to bed. Upon Fenris’ return, they set to bed themselves, preparing for a long, tiring day coming on the morrow. 

It was still odd to Anders, even a week after being reunited with Fenris, to sleep by his side. The warm, solid press of Fenris’ body curled against his back was comforting, if nostalgic. In Kirkwall, after one too many raids on Anders’ clinic that had almost lead to his capture, they had decided to live together in Fenris’ dilapidated mansion in Kirkwall. Anders remembered many nights in those last three years where they would just lay together, enjoying their closeness. He remembered evenings where other activities filled the time, when they would roll together through the night; and other nights yet where Anders would curl towards Fenris in the night, arm tentatively wrapped around his waist, growing belly protectively between them. Anders had cherished every single one; Even after years of being free, he was unused to such a relationship, and guarded it like it was the most precious thing he had. If he were honest with himself, it was exactly that. It still was, even now-- Fenris was back, as if from the dead. He was alive, he was well, and he still loved Anders fiercely. Nonetheless, it had been awkward getting back into the swing of things-- at the very least, this was the easiest part. This was familiar territory. 

Anders shifted in Fenris’ arms, turning to face him-- the elf did not visibly stir, though his breathing changed slightly as Anders wrapped his arms around his torso, pulling him closer. A smile spread across his face as the mage held him, and his own hands moved to adjust-- lyrium-lined fingers threading through long, golden hair, stroking the back of his neck and his freckled back. Anders sighed happily, nuzzling his face into Fenris’ collarbone. 

“I love you,” he breathed, his voice deep and rough with sleep. Anders pressed a kiss to his throat, letting out a soft, contented sigh.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Halamshiral the next chapter? You bet your sweet bippy it is. Buckle up kids this is going to take a While
> 
> (this next update could take 2-3 weeks to complete because I want it to actually be good...in the meantime, I might write a little ficlet off this so that you lovelies don't get bored. Not that you're waiting around reading my stuff omg)


	3. Wicked Eyes (part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was starting to take the better part of forever, so I decided to break it up into two parts, to 1. lesson the stress on myself 2. get my content out to you lovely, lovely readers. Hopefully the next installment will be soon enough. I hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know what you think! Sorry it's so short!
> 
> Much love!

It was early evening by the time they arrived at the Winter Palace, the sun having ducked below the dark, distant shapes of the Frostbacks, leaving the bridge alight with small, shining lanterns. From inside the decadent carriage, Fenris watched as the filigree gates passed them by, taking them to a slightly less grandiose side entrance, while the Inquisitor pulled up and descended from her cab, aided by a footman in a silver mask. Her dark dress fluttered gently in the wind, shimmering in the lamplight like dragonling scales. In a moment, she disappeared behind a hedge, and the carriage he shared with Anders came to a gentle stop. The mage stirred as they stilled, blinking blearily behind the delicate copper mask Josephine had provided him with. 

“Here already?” Anders asked sleepily, straightening. He adjusted the deep red uniform, smoothing it down with gloved hands, and fiddled with the aiguillette that was draped across his breast. Fenris stilled his hands a moment later, helping him pin it back into place. 

“We were in here for hours,” Fenris said peevishly, fixing his own uniform before stepping out of the carriage, ignoring the footman’s offered hand. 

“You should have slept. See, now you’re cranky.” Anders teased, stepping out after him. “Promise not to light up and crush any hearts tonight?” 

“No,” Fenris murmured with a wry smile. “No promises. I will try my best to only do so metaphorically.”

A moment later, the two were joined by the Inquisitor’s other companions, dressed similarly. Fenris watched them warily-- the strange demon wearing the skin of a young man, the peculiar warden, the elven apostate he had bothered little talking to. They had shared conversation only once, in which Solas had commented on his scars, stating he didn’t recognize such vallaslin-- Fenris had replied bluntly, and the apostate had only apologized and then gone quiet. Of course, there had been other times he’d made attempts to engage in conversation, which the warrior had consistently ignored. 

The blue double doors of the side entrance opened, and a small elven woman in a plain blue silk dress stepped out, opening the door for them while a valet in a silver mask greeted them. 

“Welcome to Halamshiral, honored guests,” he said in a thick Orlesian accent, speaking as if from a script. He gestured for them to follow him inside. “Follow me this way, and we will take you into the ballroom to be introduced to the Empress, along with the rest of your entourage.” 

Inside, the walls were adorned with silk wallpaper, deep blue like the doors with silver motifs of lions and roses. As they went deeper down the corridor, the designs and colors changed to a soft, warm ivory, this time the motifs of little golden suns and ivy leaves twisting together to make the entire hall glimmer in the warm lamplight. They followed the valet down a warren of halls and passageways until they finally made it into the ballroom through another small blue door. The valet removed the silk sash that barred the entrance, and stepped aside to let them pass. 

Despite the growing hour, the ballroom was, all things considered, sparsely populated, though far from empty. Orlesians must love being fashionably late, thought Fenris as he scanned the room, mouth in a hard line. At least this wasn’t a Tevene ball. In his days, he had seen plenty of parties such as this from behind the scenes, seen all the violence, sex, and intrigue that went on behind closed doors, where nobility thought no one was watching. The Orlesians were hardly different, if a bit more open with their scandals. There was nothing they loved more than an uproar for the sake of gaining an upper hand in The Game.

As the Inquisitor entered with Lady Montilyet, the crowd gathered in the ballroom grew quieter, whispering behind their fans as she was announced. Fenris watched as the Empress came forwards, all sapphire and silver in her finery, white-blonde hair pinned carefully back. She folded her hands in front of her as they came forwards, and the heralds announced her; Lady Isetriel Lavellan, Herald of Andraste and leader of the Inquisition. Her dressed glimmered darkly, the little scales upon her shoulders catching the light of the crystalline chandeliers. She looked like a dragon, he thought. Then, one by one, each of her companions were announced. Warden Blackwall of Val Chevin, Constable of the Grey, bearer of the silverite wings of Valor. Her ladyship’s elven serving man, Solas. Warden Kristoff Anderson of Amaranthine (Anders, he took it, under his alias. Lady Montilyet was clever). Fenris, companion of the Champion of Kirkwall, and so on. The demon was not announced, and in fact, seemed nowhere to be found, now that he noticed it. Unnerving how he could disappear off like that. 

The pleasantries and greetings continued for a few minutes more, and Fenris sought to find himself somewhere comfortable to stay with Anders, away from the prying eyes of the Court. Despite the rigorous assistance from Madame Vivienne (who had been rather irritated when Lady Lavellan ended up leaving her behind), he still had no idea how to conduct himself here. The monkey suit certainly wasn’t helping-- he felt like one of those peculiar Orlesian dolls that cracked nuts, dressed in red and adorned with gold, enchanted so that they would salute. Danarius used to have one in his estate-- a slave had once nicked it off of a shelf while cleaning, and shown it to the rest of them late at night. It had chattered and saluted, cracked walnuts another slave had managed to take earlier that night. It had been Satinalia. He had been quite young, no more than 10, and his mother, still faceless in memory, had given him a tiny piece of walnut and a small present-- all that she could manage. It was a doll made of scraps of fine fabric she had been taking from her job as a seamstress. She had been beautiful-- made of rough linen, her red lips painted on in a heart-shape, eyes made from little black dots. Her hair was hastily, but lovingly sewn strands of dark, tattered silk. She had been lost at one point or another, though Fenris could not recall when. There were a lot of things he could not recall, even as he had slowly remembered more from before. 

Fenris pulled himself from his musing as he settled on a longue in one of the other rooms, shaking away the lingering memories of snow and cold nights and childish joy. He didn’t like this place, he decided. There were too many ways to rip up old memories. It was too familiar, despite the differences in architecture and language. At the root of it, it was all the same-- elven slaves, gilded cages, violence, mad grabs for power at the cost of the littlier people in the world. He watched as Anders milled about, trying to flag down one of the valets or elven servants for something for the two of them to eat-- it had been hours since their last meal. His eyes strayed, and then, peculiarly, fixed on two elven servants who appeared to be whispering to a slight noblewoman dressed in green and white. Upon further inspection, Fenris noticed that she, too, was an elf. Before he could glance away, the woman met his eyes from behind her silverite mask. Fenris grimaced, and the woman finished speaking with the two servants, and turned her back on him. One of the two melted back into the crowd, while the other approached him, gently placing a tea-plate with a finger sandwich on it by his side, before also walking off. After a moment of scrutiny, Fenris lifted it. The paper doily beneath had a message scrawled in clean, green ink. 

Meet me by the fountains. I have something for you.  
B

Fenris looked up from the note at the balcony, but it was empty again. Strange.

“I guess you got food without me,” said Anders as he trotted up, a small, porcelain plate in one hand, and two glasses of champagne carefully balanced in the other. On the plate were finger sandwiches of his own, along with what looked like an assortment of spiced nuts. Fenris picked up his plate, making room for Anders beside him, surreptitiously flipping the doily as he settled. 

“Someone brought it over.” he replied dryly, still perturbed by the cryptic note. He scooted closer to Anders, who had placed his little plate in his lap, beginning to pick at the snacks. “What are those?”

“Don’t know. They looked good, I suppose,” he popped one into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Candied nuts, I think? They’re swee--” the mage stiffened as he swallowed, making a face. “--No, no, nevermind. Spicy. I do not recommend.” He lifted his glass to his lips, taking a long sip. Fenris couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“I cannot imagine they are that bad. No worse than Lady Montilyet’s Antivan cinnamon bombs.”

“Her what-now?!”

“The red candies on her desk,” Fenris replied drolly, picking through the candied nuts. He avoided the walnuts. “If indeed they are spicy, I’m certain they will help with warding off hunger.” 

“I suppose that’s true. Still, we should eat something. The way the party’s going already, I don’t think I could handle the nobles on an empty stomach.” Fenris only hummed in response, popping a candied almond into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. It was sweet-- mixed with the flavor of the almond, it was almost like marzipan. Once the candy coating was gone, though, sharp cinnamon and another unknown spice filled his mouth. Good. 

“I bumped into Lady Lavellan while looking for something to eat,” Anders began again, casting Fenris a fleeting side glance. “She said to keep an eye out for anything useful. The assassins could be anywhere.” he grimaced. “Though, all I’ve heard so far is some nasty gossip about someone wearing the wrong shoes.” 

“It will be difficult to tell the idle gossip apart from the dangerous kind,” Fenris mused. “Listen to the servants. They will know best what goes on behind doors.” speaking of servants. Fenris cast an unconscious glance at the doily on his plate. He picked up the sandwich, taking a bite. 

“In any case, I think I have something.” 

 

\---

 

“Alright, squirt,” said the weird, short man that Ena found herself on the knee of. “I have to do some writing today, so it might get a little boring for you. But,” he patted a book on the table-- it was colorful, with a thick cover and neatly cut pages. “I have just the literature you might like to read. I dug this out of Skyhold’s library-- some good old banned literature. Don’t worry, it’s kids stuff.” the dwarf passed her the book, and she stared at it, frowning. She wasn’t very good at reading-- Mum hadn’t been able to teach her much while they lived in the Oasis, other than scratching letters onto a piece of slate and showing her the basics. There weren’t really any books out there, besides the grimoire. But mum didn’t let her read that. 

“I wanna go play,” she said obstinately, kicking out her legs. Mum had left with Dad two days ago now, to go to a palace and meet an Empress. She was growing tired of being juggled around various companions, having to sit around quietly.

“I know. But dwarves aren’t all that good for running, see?” he pointed to his own short legs, which dangled a few inches above the floor. Ena made an irritated huff. “Now, I really have some letters to write...You can go up to the library if you’d like. Just don’t bug Sparkler too much.” 

Whoever that was. Ena slid off of the dwarf’s knee, scurrying off to the library. 

She didn’t stay long. 

The library was full of boring looking people-- a bunch of mages in boring robes, unlike any of mum’s pretty feather ones. They all babbled nonsense to each other about magic and demons, murmuring about someone called...Corfyness? Coriffneus? Didn’t matter. She soon wandered down the stairs again and into the pretty painted room that the bald guy stayed in-- he was boring, and kinda weird, from what she’d seen, but at least he made really nice pictures. Where were all his paints, though? She was about to go looking, when suddenly the door to the room burst open. Ena nearly jumped a mile at the sound, hugging the book she was still holding to her chest. 

A moment later, she relaxed when she saw it was just Sera, holding a basket. 

“Oh, hey there, mini-me,” the woman said, looking a bit surprised to see Ena unattended. “Weren’t you s’posed to be with Varric or somethin?” When Ena made no response other than looking alarmed, like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, Sera simply shrugged. “Right, he’s probably got you doing something boring. Here, help me with this.” She then began to unload eggs from the basket, holding several to a hand. She passed a few to Ena, who only looked confused. 

“Well? Hide the eggs, you goose.” Sera grinned impishly, beginning to tuck eggs away in every nook and cranny she could manage. Ena soon followed suit, carefully placing eggs onto the bald guy’s desk, and in a pair of soft, rabbit-skin slippers. 

After a moment, Sera approached, looking pleased as a pig in clover. “Good one. Now, onto the next tight-ar--jerk, yeah?” The child turned, grinning at the Jenny in a way that reminded Sera of her own younger self. 

“Yeah!” 

 

\---

 

The courtyard of the palace was all lush and green, neatly trimmed hedges and grass hemmed by the marble of walkways and the walls of the building, making it stand out beautifully. Fenris slipped into the garden with little notice, despite the way his pale, scar-like tattoos stood out on his skin. Fenris supposed there were flashier looking people here at the ball-- a scarred elf in uniform would garner little attention in comparison to the flashy dress of the Orlesians. 

The lady from earlier, whom he assumed was “B”, stood by a long, stone fountain, whose water glinted gently in the moonlight. Beneath the surface, silvery coins reflected like the scales of little fish, shining under the lamps and moon. They framed the laying form of Andraste, who lay with her arms out. B appeared to be staring pensively into the water, her silverite mask obscuring her face, but making no effort to cover the sharp point of her ears.   
“I was wondering if you would join me,” the woman said in a thick Orlesian accent, sparing little more than a glance at the other elf as he approached, watching her carefully. “You are guarded, tense like a wolf ready to spring. You are unused to events such as this.” Fenris granted no response, only wrinkling his nose at the analogy. As if sensing his distrust, B turned her gaze towards him, sharp, hazel eyes fixing his own. “Believe me, I have been there-- free, yet still so tense. So much weighing on my shoulders. I still do.” 

That piqued Fenris’ interest. For now, he listened, arching a dark brow at the Elven woman at his side. 

“Forgive me, how rude not to offer an introduction. I am Ambassador Briala. Welcome to the Winter Palace, friend. You must be Fenris.”

“I am.” Fenris replied cooly, avoiding her eyes, focusing instead on the gilt marble that backed the fountain. That she knew his identity without asking gave him pause. 

“I have that might interest your Lady Inquisitor,” Briala said as she reached for a small, green purse attached to her wrist. She produced a small sheaf of papers as a bell resounded through the palace. “Perhaps I shall see you.” And the ambassador melted into the crowd, leaving Fenris standing alone by the fountain. He wandered in a moment later, only to be caught on the arm by his husband, who was thin-lipped, and looked like he was about to splash his drink in someone’s face. 

“--We have to return to the bloody ballroom,” the mage murmured sourly, hand gently going to Fenris’. 

“You look irritated.”

“Let’s just say I’m full of more dislike for nobility than usual.” Anders replied peevishly, guiding his husband back. Fenris only offered a small smile, surreptitiously tucking Briala’s papers into his coat. The second bell chimed, and from down the hall, he caught a glimpse of the lady Inquisitor slipping into the ballroom. The peace talks were clearly about to commence, the time for mingling and pleasantries over. 

“That is little surprise,” Fenris murmured, and hastened his step. “The third bell will ring soon.” 

“Third bell?”

“--Perhaps you should have listened more closely to Madame De Fer’s etiquette lessons more carefully.” 

“Oh, sod off.”


End file.
